FIFTEEN
NEWS VANS WERE PARKED OUTSIDE the courthouse. Lane passed through the metal detector. She could do this. Wanted to do this. For her and Noah. For a future. She turned down the marble hallway and faced a crowd of reporters filling the wide hall. Thankfully, their attention and their microphones were focused on her father.
“Justice will be served.” Judge Sullivan’s voice echoed against the cold stone. “Walton’s finest are doing everything they can to find out who killed that sweet girl.”
Hearing her father call someone sweet sounded odd. Out of character—especially within the confines of the courthouse. This was Bear’s den, where he lived up to the moniker and delivered justice swiftly and firmly. Sometimes she was comforted to know that the lack of empathy he displayed at home he also shared with the defendants brought before him. Some people were critical of his severity, but they couldn’t deny that Walton was exceptionally safe considering its proximity to Savannah. And her father held no qualms about taking credit for his part.
Until now.
Lane slipped into the judge’s chambers and was glad to find it empty of his secretary. This conversation would be better received without anyone else present. At least that’s what Lane hoped.
It had taken her a week after hearing Charlie speak those words to her on the front porch of her house to get the courage to face her parents. Before their bodies swayed as one, Charlie had sought permission to offer her a chance at love and she hadn’t been able to stop hearing those words. The hope they ignited within her soul had kept the monsters of her depression at bay and only when she thought about what she was about to do did their roars become louder than the thundering within her chest.
“Lane?” Her mother stepped through the arched doorway separating the sitting area of the judge’s chambers from her father’s private office. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“I thought this would be over by now.”
Lane glanced up at the flat-screen television mounted in the corner of the room that displayed a live feed of her father’s press conference.
“It should’ve been.” Her mother sighed. “Judge Atkins is using the murder as a means to question your father’s ability to deliver justice. And the media is eating it up.”
In a sharp black suit and red tie, her father leveled a serious stare at the reporters. “There is no question that I will make sure whoever killed Sydney Donovan pays for his or her crime. Leniency in this case will not be an option.”
“He’s not going to be happy when this is over.” Her mother checked her lipstick in the gilded mirror next to an antique desk. “But your support will mean a lot.”
Her support? Lane was here hoping to get their support, but maybe this could work to her advantage. If her father believed she was here to support his bid for Senate, then maybe it would make what she was about to tell him easier. If he could see she was trying, then just maybe—
“I picked up some barbecue sandwiches from the Smoking Hog. There’ll be enough to share.”
Lane followed her mother back into her father’s office. A mahogany desk sat in the center and gold baroque curtains framed the large picture window overlooking Walton’s park and memorial garden. A wall of shelves lined with law books filled the other half of the room, along with a long conference table. Her mother began unpacking the foam to-go containers, releasing the smoked aroma of barbecue into the room.
Helping her mother put the food onto plates and set the table, Lane heard her father’s voice answer the last question from the reporters. The press conference was over and Lane’s stomach twisted into a knot of dread. Could she do this?
The door behind Lane closed and it felt like the air in the room evaporated along with her courage.
“Honey, you did great.” Her mother’s voice was soothing. “Right, Lane?”
Lane spun to face her father. His eyes settled on her. She nodded. Hesitantly at first and then a little more assuredly, hoping it conveyed her agreement and not so much her fear of upsetting him. This wasn’t a good idea.
“Remind me to call Huggins.” Her father strode across his office, loosening his tie. “If I’m feeling the pressure, he’s going to feel it too.”
A trace of indignation spurred Lane’s gut. Did her father really believe the sheriff and his deputies weren’t feeling the pressure of the case? Lane wasn’t the only one who had noticed that the sheriff’s normally jovial expression was quickly replaced with deep lines of exhaustion. Customers often asked Ms. Byrdie how her husband was doing, not always out of concern for the case but because they cared. And Lane was only slightly embarrassed that she had found herself searching Charlie’s driveway for his truck the last several days only to find it empty from the break of dawn until she turned her lights off at night.
“I think they’re feeling the pressure more than most.”
Her father’s forehead wrinkled at Lane’s harsh tone. “Pressure produces results.”
“Who’s hungry?” Lane’s mother pulled out a chair at the conference table and sat, expectation on her face for Lane and her father to do the same.
Lane had no appetite but sat anyway. Her father removed his suit jacket and sat in the chair at the head of the table.
“It was nice of Lane to show up, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, it was.”
Her father’s words said he agreed, but his eyes held hers as though he knew her unexpected appearance at the courthouse held motive. She swallowed. She might as well get it over with. The spark Charlie had lit in her soul was spreading, and before it fanned into something she didn’t dare dream possible, Lane knew this moment had to happen first.
“You remember Charlie Lynch? He’s the new deputy. The one I was with at the church benefit for Sydney.”
“I remember him.” Lane’s mother set down her fork and wiped her lips. “I didn’t realize he was with you.”
Heat flooded Lane’s cheeks. “It was kind of a . . . date.”
“A date?” Her mother reached across the table toward Lane’s hand, but her father quickly interrupted the gesture by grabbing her mother’s hand and holding tight.
Lane tucked her hands into fists beneath the table. “It’s been, uh . . . well, he’s nice and he likes Noah. And Ms. Byrdie thinks maybe I could start, well . . . I don’t know, but—”
“Lane, what is it you want?” Her father’s deep voice sent a tremor through Lane’s chest. “Why are you here?”
“Dr. Wong wants you and Mom to join me at a session,” Lane blurted out. And before the last ounce of what remained of her courage—or stupidity, she wasn’t sure which it was yet—left, she said, “And I’d like to tell Charlie the truth.”
The lines around her father’s eyes tightened. “For what purpose?”
Lane wasn’t sure which part he was referring to and whether it mattered. From his expression, she could already see him forming his answers, but her mom . . . well, something was there. Something Lane had been noticing in the way Meagan looked at her recently as well.
“Charlie’s a nice man. He’s sweet to me and, more importantly, to Noah. I don’t want to start a relationship without him knowing about my past . . . or what I’m going through now.”
“So, you’re still having issues?”
Lane stiffened. “Dad, it’s depression. It doesn’t just go away.”
“But isn’t that why you’re seeing Dr. Wong?” her mother asked. “To help you get better?”
“I am getting better, Mom, but it doesn’t mean my condition is going to change or ever fully go away. It doesn’t work that way, and if you and Dad came to an appointment—”
“That’s not going to happen.”
“What?” Lane faced her father. “Why not?”
“You realize I’m running for the United States Senate? Judge Atkins wants the position bad enough that he has my life under a microscope, trying to find something to nail me on.”
Lane blinked. “And you think he’d use me to do that?”
“This is politics,” her father said. “Nothing is off-limits.” Her father released her mother’s hand and sat back in his chair, studying Lane for a moment. “What do you think people will say when they find out our daughter has depression? Was suicidal? Actually attempted to take her own life with zero regard for her two-year-old son?”
“They can’t.” Lane curled her fists tighter so that her nails were digging into her palms. “It’s confidential.”
“You think that will stop someone from digging? And what do you think those reporters”—he jabbed a finger in the direction of the courthouse hallway—“will ask?” He leaned back farther in his chair and crossed his arms. “They’ll ask what was so bad in Judge Raymond Sullivan’s home that their daughter has depression and wanted to kill herself. They’ll blame us.”
“It isn’t about you.” Lane hated that her voice shook. Was his reputation all her father cared about? Could he not even see past an election to realize that he had as little control over her depression as she did? “It’s never been about you.”
“Oh, but it is.” Her father leaned forward, elbows on the table. “It’s been my job to protect you—even from yourself. And Noah if I have to.”
“Ray,” her mother said.
“No, Elise. She needs to hear this.” Her father kept his gaze trained on Lane. “You think my concern is selfish, but I’m looking out for you. Those reporters won’t stop with me—they’ll go after you too. And Noah. You might be ready to tell that deputy your secrets, but are you ready for everyone else to find out? Ready for the way your customers will look at you? Or have people question whether Noah should even be with you?”
Lane looked down at the untouched plate of food in front of her. Her head swam as the threat of her father’s words extinguished the flicker of hope she’d been holding on to. She felt sick. She needed to leave.
“I should go.” Lane pushed out of her seat and ignored her mother calling after her, but when she heard her father say her name, she stopped and turned to look over her shoulder.
“We’ll see you and Noah at the barbecue next weekend.”
Was Noah safe with her? Is that what people would wonder when they knew the truth? Lane couldn’t risk losing him. The lump in her throat was almost as large as the one in her stomach. The back of her eyes stung, but she wouldn’t cry. Not here. And not in front of him. So, she nodded, accepting the command.
Lane hugged the walls of the hallway, keeping her eyes on the doors in front of her. She bit down on the inside of her cheek to keep the tears at bay. A blast of heat met her when she pushed through the tinted glass doors of the courthouse. Her cheeks grew hot as she took the steps down two at a time. She moved her feet faster to get away from the monolithic building.
Reporters were still lingering outside and her father’s words loomed around her, making her feel conspicuous. He was right. Lane didn’t have a television or need one to know the level to which people would stoop to win an election, and the last thing she wanted was for Noah to be drawn into that ugly world. It was bad enough she’d had to deal with it—and that was before opinions flew in every direction on social media. Noah was old enough to listen and understand. She needed to protect him.
Eyes on the ground, Lane missed the uniformed man stopped in front of her until she smacked into him and stumbled back. She squinted against the sun. Charlie.
“Lane, are you alright?” Charlie’s gentle hand reached around hers and steadied her. “What’s wrong?”
Lane swallowed the emotion that was ready to spill in Charlie’s presence. Why was he always around when she was at her worst? And why—even at her worst and after everything her father had said—did she want to be wrapped in his arms?
“Talk to me, Lane.” Charlie searched the area like he was looking for whoever was responsible for her state. With a firm and gentle grip, he pulled her next to him and assumed a protective position over her. “What’s happened?”
Lane’s chest constricted, forcing her to drag in a long, steady breath. She averted her eyes and pulled away from his touch. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”
Charlie studied her face. “You don’t look fine—I mean, you look good but . . . just upset. Like something’s wrong.”
“I’m okay.” She took a deep breath and couldn’t meet his gaze. His ability to read her, to know . . . “I’m just, uh, running late.”
She could tell by the way his eyebrows pinched together that he didn’t believe her, but the corner of his lip turned up and a sparkle filled his blue eyes. “I guess it’s good you ran into me. I wanted to ask—”
A man with a camera anchored over his shoulder brushed past them and Lane remembered . . . this couldn’t happen. Whatever Charlie was going to ask, she couldn’t do it.
“I need to go. I’m sorry, Charlie.” Lane knew the apology wasn’t enough, but it was impossible to say anything else over the sob trying to scratch its way out of her throat. Before Charlie could react, Lane started for the street and crossed it, leaving not only her father and the ugly truth of her past behind but also Charlie.
Charlie’s muscles tightened. He ran his hand over his head again. Running into Lane in her distraught state had him on edge. Her lack of explanation and quick escape consumed his thoughts most of the afternoon.
Until now.
An eerie quiet settled over the sheriff’s office. It was bad enough a murder had taken place in their town, but it was unthinkable to realize a neighbor or best friend might be involved.
“The license plate number on the car in the video is registered to Jolene’s father, but the car is insured under Jolene’s name.” Charlie handed Sheriff Huggins a file.
“What are these?”
“Screenshots of Twitter posts made by Jolene and her friend Annabeth Mendoza the week before Sydney’s disappearance and death. The last sheets are the postings the two girls made after the discovery of Sydney’s body.”
Sheriff Huggins’s face grew grimmer the further he read. “‘I thought we were best friends, but you go behind my back. How dare you. Betrayal is worse than a stab in the back. Favorite Shakespeare play Julius Caesar. Time doesn’t heal all wounds.’” Sheriff Huggins adjusted the reading glasses on his nose. “Jolene Carson posted these?”
“Yes, you can see her name in the corner of each post, along with a time and date stamp. They were all posted before Sydney was killed, but there’s one posted the day before Lane discovered her body.”
“‘You can never take it back.’” Sheriff Huggins turned to the last sheet. “‘Rest in peace, Sydney. My heart is broken, but I know our friendship will last forever. Worst day ever.’ These ones are recent.”
“Sir.” Deputy Wilson tapped on the door. “Jolene Carson and her mother are here.”
“Escort them to the interrogation room.” Sheriff Huggins’s gray eyes clouded into a murky mess of determination, dread, and disbelief. “Are you ready?”
“Let’s find out the truth.”
Would Jolene tell the truth this time? The young girl, wearing a T-shirt and sweatpants, walked stiffly down the hall. More clothes than the last time. Her mother, however, looked like she was ready for a date in her tight blazer, skinny jeans, and very tall heels.
“I hope there’s a good reason why I had to take Jo out of school in the middle of the day. I thought he”—Jolene’s mom lifted her chin toward Charlie—“already asked all the questions.”
“Some new information has surfaced and Deputy Lynch would like to ask a few more questions.” Sheriff Huggins stood in the doorway, his eyes fixed on Jolene, who kept rubbing her arm. “Would you like an attorney present?”
“We didn’t need one the last time,” Jolene’s mom scoffed. “As long as we hurry this up. I’ve got a nail appointment at four.”
A few more seconds ticked by before Sheriff Huggins excused himself, along with Deputy Wilson. They would be in the next room watching the interview through the two-way mirror.
“Just like before, our conversation will be recorded.” Charlie sat and placed his notebook and file on the table before pointing to the camera perched in the corner of the room. “Any objections?”
Jolene shook her head. Her mother said no.
“How are you doing, Jolene?”
“I’m okay,” she answered slowly.
“Good. Like Sheriff Huggins said, we’ve come across some new information we’d like to ask you about.” He opened the file and pulled out the same paper the sheriff had read from just minutes earlier. “Is this your Twitter account?”
Jolene leaned across the table. “Yes.”
“Do you remember posting these comments?”
“Yes.” Jolene leaned back and crossed her arms. “Why?”
“What about these?” He laid out still shots of the self-storage video surveillance side by side. “Do you recognize anything?”
Her blue eyes flicked down at the images for a second. Her mother leaned over and picked up one photo, then another. She gasped. “That’s Sydney.”
Charlie lifted his eyebrows, waiting for Jolene’s answer.
“It’s Sydney,” she agreed.
“Do you recognize anything else?”
“I don’t think so.”
“What about now?” Charlie pulled another set of photos. He placed the enhanced images of the car and license plate number on top of the others.
Ms. Carson smirked. “That’s your car.” Suddenly, a frown displaced the smirk. “Wait. That’s your car?”
Jolene bit her lip.
“Is that your car?” He stared at the teenage girl trying to sink into the chair. Her eyes flashed to her mother and back to him. “Jolene?”
“Yes, I’m sorry. I should’ve told you, but I was scared. It was supposed to be a joke. We never thought she’d get hurt, but—”
“We?”
“Annabeth and I.” Jolene glanced at her mom, who was stock-still. “It was a joke. Sydney was blowing us off. Keeping secrets. We would never have left her if we knew she . . .”
“Tell me what happened,” Charlie said.
“We thought she’d call her mom or dad or whoever she’d been spending so much time with. It was a joke.”
“You were with Sydney the night she disappeared.”
“Yes.” Jolene swallowed.
“Was Annabeth with you?”
“No. I was supposed to pick her up, but then she called and said her parents were being jerks and wouldn’t let her hang out.”
“But you said Annabeth was with you and Sydney?”
“Yeah.” Jolene rubbed her arm, glancing at her mom from the corner of her eye. “Annabeth snuck out of the house later. I picked her up.”
“What time?”
“It was dark. I don’t know, maybe ten or eleven.” Jolene fidgeted in the chair.
Getting her to talk was like pulling teeth, which usually meant there was more to the story. Jolene was holding back. “What happened next?”
“We wanted to know where Sydney was going and who she was hanging out with. Why she kept ditching us. She wouldn’t tell us, so we sort of, um, we told her if she didn’t we’d leave her out there.”
“You did what?” Ms. Carson emerged from her stupor.
“Out where?” Charlie continued. He didn’t want Jolene to get distracted or change her story for fear of getting in trouble with her mom.
“There’s an old gas station on Coastal Highway. A lot of kids go there and get high or drunk.”
“Was anyone else there?”
“No. We were by ourselves.”
“What were you doing?”
“Drinking.” Jolene bit her lip and glanced at her mom.
Ms. Carson fell back against her chair in dramatic flair. “I assure you, Deputy, this is not how I raised her.”
Jolene narrowed her eyes at her mom.
“Just drinking?” Charlie asked.
“Smoking too.”
“Drugs or tobacco?”
“Marijuana.”
Another dramatic exhale came from Ms. Carson’s direction. Charlie slid forward in his chair. Finally, they were getting somewhere. “What happened next?”
“When Sydney wouldn’t tell us her secret, Annabeth and I decided to play the joke. We ran to the car and locked the doors. Told Sydney if she didn’t tell us the truth, we’d leave her there. She refused, so we left. But we came back,” Jolene quickly added. “We just wanted to teach her a lesson, but she was gone. We figured she’d called someone to come get her.”
“I don’t remember. We drove down the road a little bit and finished the beers.” Jolene chewed on her thumbnail.
Charlie studied the girl sitting in front of him. Something had been off in her first interview, but he wasn’t expecting this.
“Is Jolene going to get in trouble for this?” Ms. Carson laughed. “I mean, it was a joke. The girls couldn’t have known what was going to happen.”
“Did you drive yourself here, Jolene?”
“Yes.”
“Would you mind if I had a deputy look at your car?”
“Why?” Ms. Carson’s gaze turned suspicious.
“We’d like to search the car for Sydney’s cell phone. It’s missing. We’re hoping there might be a name or number in it that could lead us to the person Sydney had been talking with.”
“Okay.” Ms. Carson’s shoulders relaxed. “But Jolene gets credit for helping you, right? Now you know where Sydney was before she was, um, killed.”
Charlie set his jaw. “Is there anything I can get you? Some water? Coffee or a soda?”
“Do you have cappuccino?” Ms. Carson pulled a lipstick tube and mirror from her purse, seemingly undisturbed by the fact he hadn’t answered her question.
“Just black. Sugar and cream is available.”
“Water is fine.” Jolene glared at her mother.
“Yes, water is fine.” Ms. Carson pressed her lips together.
Charlie rose from the table and opened the door to find Sheriff Huggins and Deputy Wilson waiting outside the room. Wilson held a forensics kit and two bottles of water. Jolene and her mother rose from their seats and followed the team of deputies to the parking lot. Sheriff Huggins fell in step at the rear. They stopped in front of the white Camry from the video. Jolene unlocked the door and shrank back behind her mom.
“Deputy Lynch.” Wilson motioned him over to the front of the car.
The right headlight was broken and a huge dent marred the right front bumper and part of the hood. Charlie kneeled down to get a closer look. There were a few brown spots.
“Blood?” Wilson said under his breath as he opened the kit. “Autopsy report said Sydney was hit by something before being stabbed. Maybe a car.”
“Test it.”
Another deputy searched the inside of the car while Wilson rubbed a cotton swab along one of the brown spots.
“What’s he doing?” Jolene unfolded herself out of her mother’s shadow. “What’s he putting on my car?”
“What happened to your car?” Charlie exchanged a pointed look with Sheriff Huggins, who joined Wilson at the front of the vehicle.
“What?” Jolene’s eyes flashed. “I, uh, I hit a deer.”
“When?”
“Um, a couple of weeks ago. Is he taking pictures of my car? I thought you were looking for Sydney’s phone,” Jolene said, her voice squeaking.
“Did you report the accident to your insurance company?”
“Why?” Jolene wrinkled her brow.
“We need to verify the date of the accident.”
“It was a couple of weeks ago.” Ms. Carson shaded her eyes with her hand. “I can’t remember the exact day, but she came home very upset. The car was a gift from her father. We only have liability coverage.”
Wilson whispered something to Sheriff Huggins. The steadfast lawman gave an almost imperceptible nod and stepped forward.
“Ms. Carson, we tested a spot on the car and it came back positive for blood—”
“She just told you she hit a deer.” Ms. Carson stalked to the front of the car. “It’s probably deer blood.”
“We need to impound the car and have our experts run tests on it.”
“What? No! I need my car.” Jolene paced in front of her car. “It’s my blood. After I hit the deer, I checked to see the damage and cut my finger on the broken glass.”
“Is that really necessary?” Ms. Carson put her hand on Jolene’s trembling shoulder. “She told you the truth. She had nothing to do with that girl’s death.”
Charlie’s ears piqued at Ms. Carson’s choice of words. Her daughter’s best friend was now “that girl.” Interesting.
“Why can’t you just do the test here?” Jolene whined. “I’ll even give you a sample of my blood.”
“Stop talking.” Ms. Carson opened her purse and pulled out a cell phone. “I’m calling my lawyer.”
Jolene stamped her foot. “I have to get my stuff—” Wilson stood in her way. “What are you doing? Move!”
“Nothing can be moved from the vehicle.” Wilson’s voice was low. He was not impressed with the teenager’s tantrum.
Tears fell over her cheeks. Were they real? During their first interview, Jolene was able to control the waterworks at the blink of an eye.
“We’ll take an inventory of the items this afternoon and call you to come pick up your belongings after that,” Sheriff Huggins said.
“What about her schoolbooks?”
“We’ll get those back to you as well. Now, let’s go inside and fill out the paperwork.” Sheriff Huggins held his hand up toward the station.
“Come on, Jolene. I can’t believe we came here to help and now we’re being treated like criminals.”
They ushered a distraught and red-faced Jolene back into the station, along with her mother who was making sure her side of the conversation with her lawyer could be heard by all.
Sheriff Huggins excused Charlie to fill out the paperwork while he handled Ms. Carson and Jolene. The gesture would’ve been appreciated more if Charlie’s mind wasn’t distracted with worry over Lane. What had her so upset outside the courthouse earlier? And the way she looked at him . . . almost mournfully. That bothered him the most. He told her she had time to think—maybe that was it? Maybe a future with him wasn’t in Lane’s future? Charlie swallowed. That wasn’t the outcome he wanted or had hoped for. But could he accept it?
Charlie stared at the mountain of paperwork stacked in front of him. It was Friday, but he knew he’d be pulling another late night. He tapped his fingers on the desk. If he hustled, he might be able to get the majority of it done and still catch Lane before she closed up after Friday Night Club. But what if he was too late? The thought sent his heart plummeting. Pushing back from his desk, he grabbed his hat. He’d stay up as late as necessary to finish the job, but right now his first priority was Lane.